I Hate To Tell You This, But You're Easy Like Sunday Morning. Sorry.

So console yourself and your whorish ways with a little FLM!!!! (Fan Letter Monday because that's how I roll).


To My Darling Jenna,

Congratulations! If rumors are true, you and your 8 pound water head boyfriend are with child! I can’t tell you how terrified happy I am for both of you! His sperm must have GPS navigation built in to avoid all the obstacles it encountered, as I’m sure there’s a few men from 1983, an old futon and my friend Elisa (where is that girl?) wandering around lost in the universal manhole that is your Virginia.

So brava for his amazing swimmers, who probably just head butted their way to your calloused uterus, kicked the tumbleweeds out of the way and buttered up to your unsuspecting eggs, who have long given up on being found and unfortunately let themselves go:


I’m putting together a nice congratulatory basket for you, so look out for that in the mail. It comes complete with underwear made completely out of rubber bands, (too keep the baby from falling out when you’re 4 months along– the rubber bands will bounce him/her right back up in there until month 9. Clever!) along with a snorkel for the doctor for your check ups and for when he delivers the baby. The day when you’re 40 centimeters dilated and he walks out of there holding your baby is going to be the happiest day of your life!

With Love,

Yo Momma.

To My Darling Matthew McConaughey,

You know, normally, b.o. slash patchouli smelling, vegan hippies who hang out at coffee shops in O.C. (you know, like really hippies do..) are just fun to point at, laugh and eat hamburgers in front of with your mouth open. (oh God, I can hear PETA rustling around in my backyard already after that comment). But with you, it’s different, little things like your ABS! penchant to play bongos naked, your ABS! description of the birth experience as “getting tribal on it” and YOUR FANTABULOUS ABS! wanting to plant a tree with the placenta and not actually being a vegan (I just got shot with a soy paintball) makes me love you oh so much more.
That baby is so lucky to have a father who has ABS! such a great stash of some sweet ass pot positive outlook on life.

God bless you Mr. McConaughey.

Now take your shirt off and pass the dutchie on the left hand side.

With Love,

Yo Momma.

To My Darling Audrina,

If you’re not smart enough to get out of douche infested waters, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to write you this letter since it’s clear that you haven’t read anything since that novel about ‘dick’ and ‘jane’ – and no, having your assistant read US Magazine to you does not count.

But here I am, always the humanitarian, warning you about the effects of overexposure to 100% pure Los Angeles vaginal irrigations tools– which you seem to have boiled yourself in judging from that picture. You fool!! How did you not see it? TWO Fedora hats within bitch slapping range? The guy with the pink Captain and Tenille hat in the back (I kind of want him), fledging future man boobies, soft hands and MANicures as far as the eye can see?? (To make it a real 100 percent tool is a guy who is actually from somewhere else but Los Angeles. – which I'm positive is about 95 percent of the soft meat in that pool.)

So don’t be surprised if you wake up suddenly idolizing Dane Cook, have an urge to buy white rimmed sunglasses, wear an“Ed Hardy” trucker hat sideways (because what says hardworking, dirty trucker like a $100 dollar Ed Hardy hat, I ask of you???) and have an aching in your mangina for a frozen yogurt at PinkBerry – it probably means you swallowed a little of that pool water but not to worry, much like their erections, it’ll wear off in a couple of minutes.

With Love,

Yo Momma.

And finally, at tribute to America!
America Ferrera that is, who, with a couple of facial expressions and no words, said what we all feel about Hollywood and brainless idiots like Blake Lively who think 'acting' in Gossip Girl (with its Shakespearean like plots) is an art form worthy of respect. If looks of disgust could kill, Blake Lively would have had a giant, gaping wound in the middle of her head. (we can only wish)

Please watch closely, the magic of America:
P.s. also, let me remind you that tomorrow is Midget Appreciation day! (um, my Amazon wish list is conveniently located on the side bar of this blog *cough cough!*)
That's one more notch on my belt age wise! and height wise, well, that remains at the 6th grade notch. Figures.



I LOVE AMERICA!!!!!!

FLF: The Celebrity Bible. Please Gather and Worship....

Dear Spencer and Heidi,

Congratulations on your engagement! A rich blonde with fake boobs marrying her
“producer/manager”(thanks to daddy’s money) boyfriend? How unique! And I must give an extra hurrah to Heidi’s loyalty to Spencer. Not only did he try to date one of your best friends, talk shit about your other best friend and tell Playboy models he would have a “naked picnic” with them WHILE he was dating you, BUT it was ALL on tape, aired on MTV with possible summer reruns. And yet, somehow, despite looking like a complete moron on T.V., you're STILL with him! Loyal simply isn't a good enough word to describe you Heidi. I think the word “lapdog” hits it right on the money. And NOW, to prove your devotion and love of dog biscuits, you’re marrying HIM! I bet your momma is proud and really, all of womankind salutes you for being the fresh face of feminism and empowerment. Brava.
I’m twittering with excitement about your upcoming marriage! That is if “twittering” means having diarrhea stomach and trying to hold back vomit, tears and laughter at the same time.....then YES, I’m definitely “twittering.” (Can someone enter that word into Wikepedia for me? Thanks.) The only thing I ask from both of you is to please get yourselves spade or neutered, as a way to ....ummm.... HONOR Bob Barker’s upcoming retirement.

Yeah. That’s it.

Ok, ok, I can’t lie. To be honest, I’m afraid of the future offspring that two people, (one being a horn dog and the other being a lap dog,) both with a very high concentrated amount of douche, stupid, unwarranted self importance and saline, could possibly produce. A Corgi with body image issues who throws up every bowl of Alpo she’s ever eaten? A pit bull who will try to dry hump your leg, hit on the hot Pug bitch next door and talk on his cell phone with his friends about the bitches he's banging ....all at the same time?
Who knows? Either way, it can’t be a good combination.

So sew it up or cut it off.

Love, Me.

Dear Celine,

What’s the French word for SON? Because I think someone forgot to inform you that YOU have a SON. Unless you want him to become the football team’s punching bag in high school, how about scheduling a visit to Fantastic Sam’s? Or, if you like that long flowing Ozzy Osborne circa 1977 type of look, how about NOT shopping for his clothes at The Limited Two? How about more plaid and less glitter? His name is Rene for goodness sakes’ and from the back, you can pretend he’s the girl you never had. But if you want to save him a few visits to the therapist’s office, some black eyes and save yourself from a “Mommy Dearest” tell all book 20 years from now, let’s butch up your son a tad shall we? Call Rosie O’Donnell stat. I believe Rosie’s got emergency sleeveless plaid shirts, a pair of Dickies, white tennis shoes, a Melissa Ethridge CD and a sweaty baseball cap that just might fit sweet little Rene.
Yes. Call Rosie. She'll probably caulk your tub and fix your plumbing for free too.

Love, Me.

Dear Pamela Anderson’s doctors,

Is it really nice to take advantage of your best customer? I know that it’s pretty much guaranteed that Pamela’s going to be on your cutting board every month from now until gravity is still in existence, but come on! Let’s not get sloppy with our work! Taking her nipples, throwing them into the air and sewing them on wherever they land is not proper bedside manner for a doctor. Even for a plastic surgeon! You should all be ashamed of yourselves. True, her nipples don't actually have any function at this point and really, they’re just a formality, but still. Not cool. Next time, might I suggest making them detachable? That way, when it gets cold or her dress is simply too scandalous for nipples, she can take them off and wear them as earrings or simply put them in her purse for later use.
Just a suggestion.

Actually, you know what? Scratch that. The more I look at her picture the more I’m enjoying the fact that one nipple can almost be her Adam’s apple. Next time, when throwing her nipples into the air, throw them near her face, sew them on and tell her that they’re brand new, “high fashion” mole implants. She’ll think she’s cool and no one else will notice because, really, who has looked directly at her face since 1992?
Nicole Ritchie, that’s who:


And from the looks of Nicole, we now know instinctively not to look Pamela directly in the face lest we want to have that chic Ethiopian look about us. Complete with disentended belly. Actually, I think we can blame Nicole's distrubing belly and pterodactyl feet on Paris.
In fact, let's blame everything on Paris.
Who thinks Global Warming would stop if Paris just closed her gap?
Show of hands.
(Wow. I'm taking digression to all new levels today aren't I?)

Anyways, blah blah, Keep up the good work Pamela's doctors!

Love, Me.


Man, sometimes I just cannot shut up. Sorry about that guys. I don't know where my "off" button is. Have a great weekend everybody! And if anyone cares, I'm suffering SEVERE Madonna withdrawals and have brought back my Madonna blog: "Kiss Me Mrs. Ritchie" for self medicating purposes.
Everyone is more than welcome to watch my sickness grow to beyond disturbing.